


with a scorched soul and hard eyes

by 7isthemagicnumber



Series: Ensouled [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gen, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:50:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6797329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7isthemagicnumber/pseuds/7isthemagicnumber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a pro-choice world, because that's how the world works, and also because it's the year 2125. What do you expect? There's got to be some progress in this world. </p><p>It's a very different world, yes, but some things remain the same. </p><p>You've got assholes in every era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Damn it. Obito catches his breath against the moldy brick wall of the disgusting alleyway for just a moment.

He grimaces, fingers coming away from his torso bloody. He's pretty sure he's cracked a couple of his ribs because it's getting real painful to breathe, his left elbow is screaming bloody murder at him, and his ankle is most definitely sprained.

Worst, his left eye is still bleeding, and if Obito doesn't get to a doctor soon, he's pretty sure it could get infected from the look of that weapon, and then he'd be really screwed.

Only good news is that the stupid gang's definitely not going to bother with him again. Not with six of them beaten to an inch of their lives and the rest of them nursing painful injuries, Obito thinks to no little satisfaction. Not bad for a fifteen-year-old dropout.

Now all Obito has to do is get to a doctor without being caught by any authorities. He winces at that thought. Most of the authorities are people he`s related too. If he gets caught now, even getting another chance will be harder than trying to keep off the streets.

God. Fifteen, almost starving and nothing but a bare bit of magic to keep him off the streets.  
If Rin could see him now... Obito shakes his head. Nothing will come out thinking that way.

Besides. It's for Rin, and Rin deserves everything he can give her, despite that she would never ask anything. Obito shakes his head. When he starts thinking about Rin, he gets distracted. He can't stop now. A thumb rubs absently against the purple butterfly on his arm. His mouth thins in determination.

He already knows that this isn`t going to end well for him. The things Obito has to do... he's not proud. But he doesn’t have a choice. Not if he doesn't want Rin to die.

He`ll sleep better at night when all this is over anyway, one way or another.

Alarmingly, a wave of dizziness unexpectedly overtakes him. His back scrapes against the walls hard in trying to keep upright. 

Let`s maybe add a concussion to that list of injuries, Obito thinks dazedly to himself. He tries to take another step, but his whole body is shaky from magic overuse, and when his foot with the sprained ankle touches the ground, his whole world swings down. 

Obito gasps for breath, and his cracked ribs protest violently. He thinks the bleeding might be getting worse. 

The streets are starting to look worryingly the same from this angle. The gray of asphalt everywhere doesn't help.

Distant footsteps echo nearby, and with one last surge of willpower, Obito pulls himself out of his crouch. Slowly, carefully so he doesn't jostle his ribs, he puts the pressure on his knees instead of his ankles. 

His chances don`t look too good right now. 

A move forward, and his ribs scream. Obito barely holds back a pained grunt. That headache from hours ago comes back with a vengeance, and Obito sways, the sound of asphalt crunching ever closer. He braces for pain and  _pulls_ himself across the alleyway until he can`t be seen from behind the garbage bags littering the back of a shabby restaurant.

His head  _pounds_. His eyesight comes and goes for too long, and he can`t hear anything anymore. Then he blacks out.

 

When Obito wakes up, he's not in a trash heap anymore.

He's in a bed.

A quick inventory check tells him that his injuries have been bandaged. His ribs still strain and ache but he can breathe shallow breaths without too much trouble, which stinks of magic. He carefully presses fingers to his eye. It`s been covered, so he has no idea on that end.

He also seems relatively clean. A little disturbing but on the other hand he could be dead, so he can deal. He's just really, really worried.

It`s too dark too really see, but there's what seems to be a little side table, no window, a dresser, a mirror and a door. It`s tiny. Really depressing too. 

And then he looks to his right and _holy-mother-of-god,_ there's an old man in a chair by his bed. His heartbeat skyrockets, and he clutches his mark in terror.

The man's like a ghost—Obito can't feel his signature  _at all_. Not a single iota. And he looks _ancient_ , face creased with wrinkles, back bent like he might fold into himself at any moment. The crazy messy hair, while black, doesn't help. It just makes him look like a hobo, though Obito has no right to be throwing stones. At least the guy's clean. More than Obito can usually say about himself.

Obito can't even speak. He's way too intimidated. This guy's so  _old_. And it's not just the way he looks.

Somewhere in the back of his head, a niggling feeling takes hold. Not just the way he looks... Blood drains from Obito's face. 

It's magic. The type that's been banned for a reason. The type that even most hardcore purists wouldn't touch.

The guy's projecting. And Obito probably wouldn't have noticed if not for his uncle out-at-2AM-doing-things-you-don't-ever-want-to-know-about who has a terrifying habit of playing with magic that's technically banned, not that his family cares, and the odd not-quite-there taste is very familiar, which says something about Obito not noticing immediately.

Specifically about the man's skill.

God. And to be this old too? The guy could give his most-likely-a-mafia-boss uncle a run for his money in the cold-sweat-inducing department. 

And the guy`s just  _looking_ at Obito. He hasn't even said anything yet.

Brilliant. Obito's woken up to have a staring contest with a terrifying ancient stump.    

"Child," the old man demands, almost making Obito jump out of his skin. 

His voice crackles, reminding Obito of a dying fire or a log burning and being consumed. If you stare too much you might see more than you asked for. Obito's no coward though. 

Obito doesn't look away. 

Slowly, painful, like a train-wreck, the old face twists. His skin folds and his mouth is an ugly grimace. 

"You have power. If you should so desire, I could make you into something great," he folds his hands together in his lap.

Obito is kind of offended at the implications in that, so he draws out the word, "thanks," and finishes politely with, "but I think I'm okay."

"I appreciate it though," he tacks on because this isn't a guy he wants to offend no matter how ancient he is.  

"I am called Madara," a breeze flows around the windowless room, and a shiver runs down Obito's spine. Obito slowly feels horror take over, because Madara might have just "gifted" Obito Madara's real name.

 It's a pretty terrible name to name your kid, Obito thinks hysterically, though in all honesty, Obito's name, which means neck, isn't much better.

And the polite thing to do here would be to introduce himself, but Obito would liken that to dealing with a demon, which is not a good thing. 

In the old stories, you don't give your real name to just anyone. Your mother finds your name and your father fashions one for you, which is the one you give away.

But if someone gifts you their real name, then you are tied to them, one way or another. And you either balance that out by returning the gift, or you get dragged into the imbalance.

The problem is that Obito doesn't know any magics from the old. He's already at a disadvantage. Returning the name won't do anything good for him, but not doing it won't be good either. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

This in't good, Obito thinks dazedly.

Madara rises, and Obito blurts out "Obito," before he can stop himself. His hand twitches to clap over his mouth.

Madara's body creaks and groans, but the man himself, he looks, for the first time, happy.

No, not happy, it dawns on Obito. Satisfied.

 


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no such thing that's free with magic—you pay with your blood, sweat and tears. 
> 
> Everything has a cost.

_Six months prior, the month of the dead, 2124_

If you want to deal with the dead, you need to be more than just clever.

You need to be smart, observant, and ten steps ahead of the game if you want even a chance at the prize.

Rin's been a player for years, but it never gets easier. The one thing that can be said about magic, is that it never gets boring. You can't 'predict' magic. Not the kind of magic that you need if you really want to be something, anyway.

And more than anything? Rin wants to change the world.

Which is why she's sneaking out her window and sliding down the old elder tree at the heart of the witching hour.

Her heart pounds fluttering and quick, like the heart of a hummingbird that she once brought back to life, deep within the safe confines of her garden.

Reminiscing always makes her maudlin, and inevitably, she thinks of herself, her pride, her imperfections, and her wants.

Rin always wants. Want want want, a constant gnawing ache at her bones.

She wants to realize her hopes and dreams, to open the hearts of the people sleeping in their beds that she passes down the blackened streets, the artists, the crafters, the dreamers, the hearts of the city.

People like Obito and Kakashi, the ones who've been beaten down and keep getting up, and the people who have no options left and struggle to live.

The ones who scream to be heard and be seen.

Their hearts are always aching and raw, angry and bleeding. It hurts Rin, who wants to push through their barriers, past the cages around their hearts, and snap away the thorns and the spikes.

Rin wants to _heal_ , wash away the blood and the wounds, and her magic responds to her _wants_.

Sometimes she thinks it might be the soul magic that she was born into the world with, one hand fisted over her left lung and the other hand, fingers splayed across her neck at the strongest beat of her heart.

Other times, she thinks that greed has always been a part of her, eating and eating at her until one day she will be nothing but the grit of her watery remains.

If you want to change the world, you have to take life by the reins and lead with your own two hands. This, Rin has always known.

And so, Rin grows and grows, her magic clawing her up from inside out.

Rin has always had too much power.

She's not very good at most combat-oriented magics. This doesn't surprise her. Her magic has always responded to the heart of her wants.

However, what Rin can do is weave veins back together, knit skin so well that scars cease to exist, push away illness and death with the brush of a hand as gentle as the cradle of a mother's womb.

Rin has the underestimation that young people face, the condescension of bitter, the dissillusioned who disdain youth and their dreams. The 'soft' dreams that want to spread kindness and love, to change the world with one outstretched hand at a time. Kindness and compassion aplenty.

She has eyes and ears, magic and soul. She sees and hears and counts the in-betweens of the city's heartbeats.

This is why she creeps across the city on silent feet.

Obito thinks he can hide things from her, but she's always known every part of his soul, and Obito might think that Rin needs protecting, but Obito is worth just as much to Rin as her own soul.

Just as Obito would give himself up for her, Rin could do no less.

When Rin melts into the shadows of the store right on a four-way intersection, the witching hour is on its last dregs. The night is starless, an ominous omen.

The street is silent, and a sleeping dog startles at a black cat knocking over a couple paint cans.

 

 

 

  
 _Her youth doesn't make her dreams less valid. Time passes and everything dies someday._  
Rin knows this better than most. She knows that her youth means that she has time and energy to show the world her wants.

 

 

She can afford to give some away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And everywhere you can see grief and anger. Magic gives and takes, and if there exists a higher power, well, the exchange always seems to take more than it gives. 
> 
> You forget kindness and laughter because fear and anger sweeps your soul away.

**Author's Note:**

> For small spoilers, check out my tumblr at [sitmn](https://sitmn.tumblr.com/).


End file.
